Lost Little Children: Redux
by FuriaeIntus
Summary: Before Harry Potter received his letter to Hogwarts, before he could discover the truth, he left. Couldn't stand those people that called themselves his family anymore. So he left. Because even life alone, homeless, would be better than them. He certainly didn't expect to find what he did, and no one could have expected the path they were set on.
1. Chapter 1

AUTHOR NOTE; This is the re-write of the story of the same name, and plot. The same warnings apply. Alternate Universe. This does begin before the first book, and though some canon facts will eventually come into play, this is *not* a mary-jane-inserted-into-the-books cliche. The effect of the Weasley's having lost a child has changed the world as we know it. Draco Malfoy thinking independently has changed the world. and Harry Potter most certainly has changed.

Understand that this story will deal with issues of child abuse, in many different flavors. There are, in fact, going to be points that may trigger those of us that are ... more sensitive to this type of stimuli. Also understand that it is quite unusual for children so young to realize they are being abused. For the most part, a child does not have the experiences necessary to understand that they way they were raised was anything but normal - so they act as if it is normal. Generally speaking however, a fantasy of realization and escape is often done in hindsight as a wish, a dream, and a coping mechanism. The world of "what-ifs", so to speak. Abuses will be confronted, and handled. Healing will happen in this story, though in order to heal, what must be healed must first be established in the minds of the victims as a thing that needs healing. Anyone with any experience with victims know full well that this is most often the most difficult point to achieve.

Throughout the books written, there have been many a time in which the Wizarding World's government has been shown to be inept and purely ridiculous. Lets think about this people - a school principle basically controlling the government? Come on! A few adults in this will be throughly bashed, and a few will not be. Though I'd kinda like to input a Mary-Jane in this story to stand as the children's advocates, a think all victimized children deserve, that doesn't make for realism in this case. The one OC here has a purpose more as a case study in contrasts, as well as to complete the dynamic I wanted. All else shall be handled with characters locatable in the Harry Potter Lexicon, a website liberally used to check and double check canon facts throughout the writing of this version of the story. (lots of mistakes in the previous version could have easily been avoided if i'd known about that website back then!)

Above all, remember (and comprehend the horror) that these children are very very young in years, but far older in experiences than they should have ever been.

For the new readers, enjoy! For those of you who were kind enough to stay with me, (I don't expect many, it's been 5 years) and have the patience to not just give up, I truly appreciate it, and I hope you'll be satisfied with the results of what I hope to be a far deeper, and much more realistic story for your enjoyment.

Please note: The first few chapters will swap back and forth between two time periods, a decade or so apart. The dates are specific in order to prevent confusion - though I don't doubt context is enough to let you know when and where.

Oh, and before I forget: DISCLAIMER: (Applies to this chapter, and all future chapters)

The Harry Potter Universe is owned by the great J.K Rowling, and the books and movies are the property of their respective Publishers and Producing companies. No form of profit, either in tender or trade, will now, or ever be made from this story. Autumn is mine. The plot is mine. And the therapeutic value in this story is mine.

Story Warnings: non-graphic references and implied history of child abuse of physical, sexual, and emotional nature. Including child prostitution and vague references of child pornography. NO GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS - for the most part, it is either in the vaguest of terms, or even only implied. I, for one, have a very serious problem with "underage, but that's okay" fics. Just an FYI: NO.

Lost Little Children

Summary: Before Harry Potter received his letter to Hogwarts, before he could discover the truth, he left. Couldn't stand those people that called themselves his family anymore. So he left. Because even life alone, homeless, would be better than them. He certainly didn't expect to find what he did, and no one could have expected the path they were set on.

And So, Our Story Begins...

Little Whinging, Surrey

February 3, 1988; Night

A dark haired boy of slight stature slipped from shadow to shadow, moving across the yards to the end of Privet Drive. As the boy moved briefly into the light of a street lamp, his baggy, ragged, too large clothing contrasted sharply with the finely manicured lawns, neatly maintained hedges, and well taken care of homes lining the street. As he turned to glare at Number 4 one last time, his deep emerald colored eyes flashed in the light of the moon. His gaze held all the hatred, bitterness, anger, and despair living in that house had gained him.

He could just imagine the three people who called themselves his family, if family meant beating him nearly to death, and working him worse than a slave, waking in the morning expecting their breakfast ready and waiting. He could clearly see the man practically roll his blubbery body down the hall, yanking the door to the cupboard under the stairs open, his piggish face still red from his use of the boy last night, screams of a boy's worthlessness erupting from the man's tiny puckered mouth before he even realized that the room was empty.

The undersized and malnourished seven year old pushed his shaggy black hair from his forehead, where a lightning shaped scar showed in the faint light. A scar that supposedly came from the car crash that killed his parents and landed him in the so called care of his Aunt and Uncle. The boy turned and began to jog, intent on getting to the train station in Langley before sunrise. His intent was to jump the train into Paddington station, taking him straight to London in the early morning. With just a little luck, he could find a corner or alley to hide in before the city woke.

As the boy moved quickly through Surrey, his thoughts once again turned to the parents he had never known. How different would his life be, had they not died? Certainly better than being the punching bag for a bulbous uncle and equally rotund cousin, than being the ill cared for and abused slave, a body for the uncles use because the aunt was a frigid bitch. Surely, his parents would have loved him as his Aunt and Uncle loved his cousin. He didn't know why, but the boy felt, down to his very core, that no car crash could have killed James and Lily Potter. He didn't understand the feeling, because how would it be possible? Though he didn't understand it, the little boy running away from the only home he remembered knew his scar had far more … sinister origins.

Somewhere in Wiltshire

Feburary 3, 1988: Night

At the same time, in another direction from the dirty, infested alleyways of London Proper, a shockingly blond head was confidently walking off his family estate, a small bag slung over his shoulder. This boy's silver eyes shone brightly in the night as he held his head high and unafraid as he moved into the patch of forest that separated his home, or rather the house of his father and mother, from the city. The seven year old blond smirked despite the dark bruise that ran from his cheek, down his throat, and disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt. The boy ignored his limp, given to him by worried parents. Worried that their heir would be harmed and perhaps permanently marked, harmed by the creatures that inhabited the very woods where he now walked. For the past some odd number of years, those creatures had been the ones to save him from the fate that Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were so certain the "filthy creatures" would inflict.

No, it had been Lucius to beat the boy into oblivion, Narcissa that had ignored her husband's actions and the wounds of her only child. It had been the boy, since the young age of 4 when he had dared to ask "but why are mudbloods so beneath us," who had dragged his bloody, bruised, and broken body from the back veranda into his beloved forest. Leaving behind those creatures, the ones who were his friends and family, was actually his only regret about leaving home. As much as he would miss them, he had made his choice because he could not follow the path his so called father wished him to.

The "Dark Lord" was rising, only waiting for the boy-who-lived, one Harry Potter, to arrive at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in only a few short years. The blond boy didn't want to be a Deatheater like his father. He didn't want to kneel before some bodiless, powerless baster who had been defeated by a one year old. He certainly didn't want some mark on his arm that would mar his perfect flesh, and from what he could tell from Lucius, one that would hurt all the time. He absolutely didn't want his life in any hands but his own.

Second Alley to the Left, Soho, London

Febuary 4, 1988

Just as the dawn broke over London, back in an alley that lead to a dead-end corner, prowled a frail looking young girl. She had dark red hair and hazel eyes, and she was dressed in a worn black blouse too large, and dirty black jeans, and her feet wrapped in layers of filthy cloth to ward off the cold of the February weather.. The corner she guarded was the one she had lived in all of her life. Or, at least, every bit of it she could remember. It was the corner Heather, the only mother she's ever known, had raised her.

Heather had told her more than once, of when Heather had found her. It was that day, actually, that Heather decided was her first birthday, and the day they would celebrate each year. November 2, 1981. Heather had heard her screaming her little one year old heart out, wrapped in a knitted blanket, stuffed in a box to guard against the cold night, in the very alley the girl now lived. Heather had only been 14 years old, and had been on the streets, after running from foster care, for two years. She had taken in the toddler, cared for her, raised her, and taught her as if the little girl were her own. The little girl had loved her Heather dearly.

It had only been eight months since Heather had been taken from her. During the last summer, one evening after Heather had managed to find them a bare supper that consisted of three half eaten sandwiches and a handful chips, they had been ambushed. Ambushed by a gang of boys that constantly tried to infringe on what little bit of territory she and Heather claimed. Though Heather had taught her to fight in the way of the streets, she still tended to push the then six year old little girl behind her when trouble appeared. As such, the little girl could do not much other than watch as several teen-aged boys beat her Heather to death.

The little girl had been so afraid, tears traveling down her face in torrents as she watched the only mother she had breath her last breath. She had been so, so angry as she stared at the body, and had barely noticed when the boys began to head towards her. She still didn't know what happened next. All she remembered was waking up not much later, and all the boys had been knocked out, looking like they had been thrown against the brick wall behind them.

Taught to take any opportunity when it happened, she didn't hesitate to strip her Heather of the things she knew Heather would have wanted her to have, and then ran three streets over back to the corner where they had made their home. There, she hid and cried for three days. When she finally emerged, knowing she needed to eat, she began to hear the word on the street. Apparently, the police had found the boys near her Heather's body, and had arrested them for her murder. Heather, she knew, would be taken care of by the city, as was everyone found dead on the streets and not identified.

Then, the little red-headed girl had to celebrate her seventh birthday alone.

A sound at the mouth of her alley drew the girl's attention away from her thoughts. She balled her fists, determined to give the invader a what-for. Only newbies didn't know to leave little Autumn alone.

The sight that greeted Autumn was not what she had been expecting. Two boys, around her age, glaring curiously at each other. One had shaggy black hair, and was dressed in old cloths to large for him, and the other had shinny blond hair, and was dressed in nearly-new well-fitted cloths, and had a bag slung over his shoulder.

When later asked, Autumn would not be able to explain her next actions as anything other than a gut feeling, and Autumn always followed her gut. So, knowing full well that the daytime traffic would soon start, she grabbed the back of both boys' shirts, and dragged them into the alley. They were both too shocked, having been about to introduce themselves to each other, to put up a fight.

"Rule number one boys, stay out of the streets during the work day." Autumn's voice was hardened by the street, but it was easy to hear the potential in her voice, the potential to be a magnificent singer and speaker. "Now, tell me who you are." She raised a finger when they both opened their mouths. "No last names. It means you have a family, means you have somewhere you belong. Out here, that can get you killed." Both boys stood before her, their mouths hanging open in shock. "I'm Autumn. What about you, blondie?"

"Draco, it means 'dragon of bad faith.'" Autumn could hear the cultured, high-class tone of his voice. She snickered.

"Alright Dragon. What about you, shorty?" She turned to the dark haired boy, who smirked and looked down at her, amused by her calling him short when she was the shortest of the three of them.

"Nothing so impressive." He smirked at Draco. Both Draco and Autumn grinned back at him. "Harry." Unnoticed by the other two, the name rang an alarm in the back of Draco's mind. Despite the impossibility of the notion, Draco found himself searching for the famous scar. He barely managed to stop the shocked expression from crossing his face. Draco debated with himself on whether or not to say something. Obviously the boy-who-lived didn't know who and what he was, there were certainly plenty of wizarding families willing to take **him** in.

Second Alley on the Left, Soho, London

April 1989, just before dawn

In the darkness, three small figures - too small to be adults - slipped through the shadows, returning to the alleys where they lived after the nights work. The dark haired boy in the lead cautiously peaked around corners before moving forward, caution in his every step. The redheadded girl, the smallest of the three children, moved behind him, as alert and cautious as the first child. She kept close to the wall, keeping an eye on the first boy's back, and on the back of their third companion. A boy with white blond hair kept close to the other two, an eye kept on the rear of their formation, trusting the girl to lead him backwards as they moved toward their destination.

Soon enough, the three made it to a haphazardly held up cardboard lean-too over a pair of shipping pallets layered with newspaper and rags to form a sort of bed. Once the children were sure they were alone in the alley, the boys immediately went to the girl and had her lay down, their faces shining in concern. A closer look revealed sweat on the girls brow, and one arm protectively covering her abdomen.

The boys shared a glance over her head as she settled down beneath the rags they used as a blanket. To an observer, it appeared as if the boys needed no words to communicate. But the children had discovered a mere three months after they'd met that somehow they could talk to each other, all three of them, in just their heads. They could do this freely as long as they were within sight of each other, though they had discovered that if there was a true need, they seemed to be able to call out to each other from any distance.

As they had discovered one night when the dark haired boy had slipped off on his own, and gotten into some trouble he couldn't handle. In the red-headed girl and blond boy's head, his scream for help had sounded as loud as if he had shouted the words next to their ears, and the feeling led them to the dark haired boy's side in little time. What he had not been able to handle alone had been easy for the three of them together. They were always ready for an assault from the other kids on the streets. Most often they were attacked for "stealing business" from one or another of them, despite the fact that the attackers had only grown to old for the customer in question. Nothing they weren't used too.

On this particular night in question, the boys were speaking to each other as the girl settled down between them, listening to their conversation as she curled up, trying to make the pain in her abdomen settle down. Also nothing they weren't used too.

"I don't like this one, Drake. He was too rough. I don't think we'll take his business again." The dark haired boy sent the thought out to his companions. Even in their minds, his voice sounded the same as if he spoke aloud. Gravely from disuse, and thick with the cockney accent of the streets and underground of London.

When the blond returned his thoughts, his voice was no less filled with gravel, though the words were slightly more refined, and the cockney accent not wholly taken hold over his previous aristocratic upbringing. "hmm. I quite agree Shadow. We told him to slow down a little. If he has so little control, let one of the others take his money." The girl peeked open one eye to glare at the boys lounging half sitting up on either side of her.

When she sent her thoughts to them, her voice was like silk in their minds. It held less of the gravel of theirs, and the same cockney accent - though hers was thick beyond either of the other two - it was a balm to the boys. "Hush yous. I'll be right soon 'nough. The day is commin' and we needs sleep. Gotta work t'morrah"

The boys voices blended into one though as they laid down next to their girl, wrapping her tight in the cocoon of their slight frames and the rags on top of them all. The boys' hands found hers where it lay atop the ache, helping her sooth the pain caused by the client who forgot he was buggering a small girl and used far too much force, even has he'd been watching the two small boys bugger each other. Thankfully, the boys knew it could have been worse. She'd be sore for the night, but this time there was no blood, so they weren't too worried. They just tucked themselves close to each other, and got as much sleep as they'd be able to before going back out the next night in an effort to get the cash to feed themselves, and a little bit aside for the day they'd be of age.

*"G'night Autumn."*

If an observer were to look into this dark alley, they'd find a spot that staid shaded through most of the day, and a pile of rags beneath a leaning cardboard box held up by old metal trash bins and broken bricks. If the observer were lucky, they might be able to make out a faint light pulse beneath the rags, emanating from where the children's hands lay entwined.

More than a year had passed since those three children had met early one morning, at the mouth of that very alley. A year for them to share their stories with each other, time for them to know each other and trust each other. Enough time for the latent magic in each of these children recognized and then tightly form the bond between them. More than enough time for them to learn that the only part about selling their bodies that Shadow found odd was that they could be paid for it. For Drake, it had been a harder lesson, as he had never experienced such things, but the children quickly found out that not only did they fetch a much higher price together as a group, it was also much easier for them to bare as long as they were together. Enough time for the children to make a plan for the day they would be of age, and figure out how to accomplish it.


	2. Chapter 2

Note: According to Cannon, James and Lily Potter went into hiding on October 24, 1981. For the purposes of this story, that is being adjusted - assume they went into hiding July 24, 1981 - shortly before Harry's first birthday, instead of after.

Otherwise, pertinant notes and disclaimer in ch. 1

Somewhere in England, October 2, 1981

A short, rotund man with a pasty, pinched face and small, watery eyes glanced nervously around the room he was in. On a raised dais to one side of the room stood a charismatic man, speaking to an attentive crowd. The first man fidgeted as he stood off to the side of the dais, waiting to be called by the speaker. He himself, and the speaker, were the only ones in the room not wearing a horrible white mask, the visage of death, upon their faces. Black robes, black boots, black gloves, served to cover every inch of skin and hair, leaving the group to appear as a sea of black with somewhere near 30 horrible copies of a ghostly face floating on the surface.

Peter Pettigrew was a squat coward of a man. Jealous of the power and popularity his boy-hood friends enjoyed, lacking in confidence or any self-esteem to speak of, and filled with the anger and hate at his harsh treatment, he had been a prime target. His Lord promised him revenge, power, popularity, and all that which he had never had riding the coattails of his former friends. He stood to the side of the dais where Lord Voldemort, nee Tom Riddle stood speaking to his followers of success, and the victory close at hand.

One loyal servant had brought pieces of a prophecy to him, and another loyal servant brought to him the information he needed to thwart that same prophecy. The time was almost at hand to go and eliminate the threat, but there were a few things that needed done first. While they would thwart the prophecy, there was no reason to not make other preparations. The belief in the validity of the prophecy was tenuous at best, but his Lord believed in preparing for all angles, and thus it would be dealt with.

But first, a new task for a new follower. A demonstration to his new brothers in arms that he was indeed loyal to their Lord as they were. The taking of an opportunity to not only damage the moral of Blood-Traitors, but to also take the opportunity to set into motion that which would eventually bring the family back into the proper fold.

Two months ago, the family had given birth to their first daughters in generations. Twin girls as pure blooded as any of his followers. They would take them. The girls would then be raised by a "proper" family, taught the "proper" way of things. The Old Ways, the Old Worship. Once they were old enough, they would restore the "proper" pure-blooded respect to an old family that had been led astray.

It was a long term plan, but the plans their Lord had for their world were nothing less than long term and all-encompassing. His followers knew they were not fighting for themselves - but fighting for the world they wanted for their children. And the two children that Peter had been tasked to kidnap would help create the path for those poor, misguided blood-traitors to return to the Old Ways, the Pure Ways, to what should be in the eyes of they and their Lord. A Wizarding World with a stable Government, instead of the weak mockery that was now in place. Laws and clearly defined procedures and consequences for the violation of said laws - all structured to prevent the Muggle travesty from invading the Wizarding World and making it weak once more.

"My Brothers, allow me to introduce you to our newest member, Peter Pettigrew." Finally, the time had come, and Peter walked on to the dais, and kneeled before his new Lord. "He has brought us the location of the fools and blood-traitors Potter. As all of you once did, he must now take upon his first task. Our new brother is going to invade the home of the Blood-traitors, and bring their new twin daughters home, here, to us. Where they will be raised the proper way, the Old Way, the Pure way. The Weasleys are a family as pure as any of you here, and with their daughters, we will bring the family back into the fold. He will be departing to carry out this task tonight, though he has been instructed on very specific things - we may not expect to see him immediately. He will only return to us once he has successfully taken both girls. Speak to your wives tonight, Gentlemen. Before Mr. Pettigrew returns from his task, I would like a list of families willing to take them, and raise them. I will then make my decision of the best place for them from that list."

And with that, one more meeting of Lord Voldemort and his Deatheaters was adjourned, sending Wizards off to their appointed tasks. Including one rat appearing on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole to begin his surveillance.

Ottery St. Catchpole, Friday, October 9 1981

The Weasleys were rather predictable, and Peter Pettigrew only needed a week to figure out their schedule. Having reached one full week of waiting and watching, Peter believed that the following Tuesday night would be the best for him to slip into the window off the Burrow Orchard, into the little girls' nursery on the first floor.

Tuesday night was the night that the Patriarch of the family, Arthur Weasley, worked the latest, and his wife, Molly's routine on that night was to relax in the kitchen after putting all the Weasley children to bed. Peter would wait to see if the woman would drink a glass of wine again, as she did the week before. If she did not, it wouldn't be difficult for Peter to adjust his plans for the following week. His Lord had stressed his need for patience, and the "correct opportunity."

So, he would wait. Confirm that their weekend routine was the same as last, when he had begun his watching of the blood-traitors, confirm that Monday followed the same pattern, and wait for his time Tuesday night. He would not fail his Lord. He would earn that which his Lord promised him. He would have Lily Potter as his own, the ultimate revenge on that pompous, arrogant prick James Potter. A revenge he did not doubt would be sweeter even than the feeling of his mother's blood flowing between his fingers - the end result of the test he was given the night he went to his Lord and offered his fealty.

Godric's Hallow, Friday, October 9 1981

"James, I have such a horrible feeling about this." Lily Potter looked up from where she was playing with their young son, Harry. They had been in hiding for a few weeks at this point, and things were going as well as they could. On the surface, everything seemed to be going to plan. Peter had disappeared after the casting, as they had decided they would, and Sirius was out wrecking havoc in order to keep the attention off the rest of the Marauders. But still, Lily couldn't help the horrible feeling of *wrongness* in her gut. Her family was not safe. She didn't know why, but she was certain of it.

James joined them on the floor, picking up the miniature toy broom that was part of the child's learning board game, and made zooming sounds as he flew it around with his fingers for his son's amusement. When Harry had managed to finally snatch the elusive broom from his father, James leaned over and pressed a kiss to his wife's worried brow.

"Love, I know you are concerned. No one is going to find Wormtail before he's ready for them too. The rat knows how to sneak and hide more than anyone else. Really, the rat was well chosen for our friend. Even you have no idea how many times that rat came through for us when the rest of us could not. We can trust him, as we can trust Padfoot to keep the world's attention on him." James smiled at his son again, charming the miniature Witch's Hat to zoom up to the next place on the board. Lily sighed happily at her son's giggles.

"I know James. I just... keep having this feeling. I'm so worried. If Wormy were caught, it wouldn't take much of anything for *them*" Lily sneered at this reference to Death Eaters, "to get it out of him. Wormy's parents did him no favors, and I fear that he will flash back to those days the moment the pain starts. And we *wouldn't know* he'd been caught until it was too late." Lily's shoulders sagged, and James opened his mouth. Lily knew the argument he was going to make, again. It was the same argument that made the men decide on this course to begin with. Her argument, the one that hadn't won the day, remained the same too. Before sound escaped his throat, she continued with what she had to say. She *needed* James to understand.

"I know James. I know that too. Paddy *is* the obvious choice, but I still wish we'd gone with him. As much as I'm concerned for us, I'm concerned for Wormy too. He'd only *just* gotten out from under the heel of his horrible parents. He needs time to find his own feet, to finally be able to live without having to think ahead of every step and plan so carefully how to avoid what those people did to him."

James and Lily shared a sad look for their little friend. They knew, just *knew* that Peter could be great - Remus and Sirius knew it too. The boys had done their best, for *years* to be the safe place their little friend Peter could forget about his parents beating him, screaming at him. They tried so hard to be there for him, but they had just been children themselves. Children don't think about going to authorities when atrocities happened - after all, adults had committed them in the first place, and weren't all authorities adults?

Oh, the horror they had all felt, Lily recalled, when they had finally figured out *why* they had all felt so protective over Peter, *why* their timid, shy little friend felt so much *less* than they viewed him as. But even that horror was nothing compared to what happened just a few short months after graduation, when Remus had come to her with the information about what they *could* have done. Lily had immediately started looking into the Wizarding World's resources for counseling and the like. The Wizarding equivalent to a Psychologist. Before this all had become necessary, she'd felt that the rest of them had *almost* talked Peter into getting some professional help for what they all now knew to be not only physical, but emotional abuse Peter had endured his life through. Supporting him, and *trying* was the group as a whole trying desperately to make up for the guilt they felt. If only they had reported the abuse, *even once* to one of the Professors at school, the Ministry would have been legally *obligated* to investigate the claims.

They would never know what the Authorities could have done for Peter's home situation, one that was honestly far more prevalent in Wizarding Society than one would assume in a society where a child's innate and uncontrolled magic was unpredictable at best. Why, just the other day Harry had started to throw a fit after being told no cookies before dinner, only to have it stop abruptly when he accidentally summoned the cookie jar to the high-chair table in front of him.

Lily was worried because Peter was weak. Peter was weak through no fault of his own, but that didn't negate Lily's worry for *him.* Lily was afraid because she had so much to loose, but she was worried because Peter had already been through more than any one person had a right to, and she didn't know how much more he could take before he broke - nor did she know what the result would be when he did. Her gut kept screaming that it was going to be very very bad.

James finally got what his beloved was trying to get at - and while his heart once again swelled with pride and love at the compassionate, loyal, kind-hearted woman in front of him - but all he could do was pull her into his arms and comfort her. He could make no arguments to her worries because for the first time, he'd begun to feel it too. James Potter, having been raised in the Old Worship, sent a silent prayer to the Gods for the safety of his family and friends.


	3. Chapter 3

See Chapter 1 for notes/disclaimer.

Second Alley on the Left, Soho, London July 24 1991

In the back corner of an alley, a few turns away from the main traffic of the city, stood a small lean-too structure composed of cardboard, broken bricks, and old metal trash bins. Beneath the tentatively called roof their appeared to be a pile of rags atop two shipping pallets covered in newspapers.

In the early morning hours, say just after dawn or so, a large tawny barn owl swooped in and landed with an unfortunate clang atop one of the trash bins. Before the clang could finish echoing, three small figures separated from the pile of rags and each other, to face the noise in a tense position, three pairs of small fists raised at the ready, focused wholly on the source of the noise.

In the dim light of the dawn, the owl sat where he landed, appearing quite unruffled at the sudden movement of small figures. While the figures were still registering the sight of an owl in their alley, the source of the clanging, another slightly smaller owl swooped in and landed on the surprisingly sturdy roof of the little cardboard shack.

Three pairs of bright eyes; Hazel, slate blue, and emerald green; blinked the weariness from their gazes as their minds caught up with their bodies actions, and processed the strange scene in front of them.

Both owls observed the three children in front of them; dressed, though haphazardly, still rather securely in various rags for clothes. Two boys of thin and frail stature, and opposite colors of stark white blond and deep black hair, stood on either side of an equally frail, though much smaller frame of an auburn haired girl. The children seemed almost feral, and seemed to communicate with each other with glances. After several silent, and tense, minutes one of the owls gave a soft and gentle 'hoot.' The children finally relaxed, and both owls hopped closer to the boys, and held out their legs, offering a parchment envelope.

Only one of the children had seen such things before, though one other had seen them in dreams. Even though it had been three years since he'd seen even a hint of the magical world, he had shared his origins with his companions, as they had in return. They knew the dark haired boys sinister feelings regarding his scar, and they knew the red-haired girl dreamed of a not-her in a strange place full of both warmth and love, and a deep, lingering sadness.

"Must be our Hogwart's letters, then." The Slate-blue eyed, blond boy mused. If anyone that had been familiar with this boy three years ago heard him today, they would not recognize the gravel in his tone, or the cockney accent that now lilted his words.

"Only two of 'em." Replied the Green-eyed, dark haired boy. Running his fingers through his shoulder length, and surprisingly clean, black hair to get it out of his eyes, you can catch a glimpse of a rather curiously shaped scar on the center of his forehead. Well, it seemed intriguing to some, and the boy had certainly learned to use it's dubious charm in the last three years.

The red-headed girl sighed and shook her head, thick curls bouncing. They'd discussed this day before of course, and she knew what was brewing before the boys could even voice the thought.

"Are you sure the two of you want to do this? This could be your chance at *More*" From the inflection in her voice, it was obvious that the word "more" had a wealth of meaning. The boys looked at each other, nodded once, and then turned to the girl in sync. Speaking together, their voices blending, they put to words the feeling they were all aware of.

*"Not without you. Never without you."*

Though she'd known the answer, she'd had to ask anyway. The past three years with her boys had been very very different from anything she'd ever dreamed of, even when her Heather had told her fantastic fair tales of princes and princesses, wealth, beauty, and magic.

The boys had been so sure that she'd had magic too, certain that when this day came, there would be three owls there for them, that she wasn't certain they thought it would actually be a possibility it would come to this. Honestly, they'd all been so *sure* she was a witch. Not just because of their bond, but also because of the bond she shared with a little girl that was her, but not. Dreams she had always had, without words, but with pictures and emotions and a little red-headed girl that was not-her. But there were only two owls, not three.

"Tell us again, Drake, what do we need to do?" The dark haired boy turned to the slightly taller blond. The blond scrunched his brow in thought, then finally turned to the owl. He spoke in soft tones to the owl nearest him, the smaller of the two beautiful birds.

"Come, little one, what do you have for me?" Drake took the proffered letter, and read the address aloud. "Draco Malfoy, The cardboard shack, Second Alley on the left, Soho, London" Without opening the letter, he then gave it back to the owl, and firmly announced, "I am not Draco Malfoy." The bird hooted questionably, took the letter, and took off the way it came. The brunette did not hesitate to copy the other's actions.

Taking the letter, he read. "Harry Potter, the Cardboard Shack, Second Alley on the left, Soho, London" Handing the letter back immediately, the boy said, "I am not Harry Potter." With ruffled feathers, this owl took the letter and took off without delay.

"That's that innit, Shadow?" Shadow dusted his hands off his pants and turned towards the other.

"Looks like, Autumn. Time to move?" The girl nodded firmly, and turned to the shelter to get started.

"We been casin' 'nother alley for this. Shouldn't be much t'all to get 'cross town tonight, but we need to move out of "the second alley on the left."" Drake sneered, only subconsciously recalling that he was imitating a certain God-father of his from the life he abandoned.

With that, the children quickly and quietly started getting to work. Anything they could carry with them they would, and the rest would be scattered to conceal the fact that this had been their home for the last three years, been *her* home for as long as she could remember. They had indeed discussed this day many times. They knew they only had a short time before the owls returned from where they'd come from, and they were well aware of the danger of the possibility of certain adults coming to find them based on that address. They were prepared. Inside of 20 minutes the alley looked like it had never been used as a squat for three homeless children. Swiftly and quietly the children slipped around the corner and into the maze of alleys behind the buildings on London, moving as quickly as possible to a safe spot to hide the rest of the day. That night they would cross the city, get across the river, and start over in an alley they had decided was secure (though they didn't know the word), over in South Bank, and not Soho.

Drake had explained that if they just ignored the letter, more and more would come. And they would chase them where ever they ran. But by renouncing the names they were born with, they instead returned the owls with a sort of "addressee not found" response. They moved in case adults came looking. After all, they really *were* Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, even if they thought of them selves as Autumn-and-Drake-and-Shadow. That was important to *them* , but Autumn had been running from child services her entire life. Heather had told her that foster care was dangerous, and they *knew* that both boy's families were dangerous.

They felt safer together, on the streets of London.

It was better. Because at least out here it was their choice. If a dark denizen of the London underground wanted to pay them for a ... show, then it was their choice to do take the money. It some creep wanted to pay them for more than that.. well that was their choice too. As long as they were together, it wasn't really all that bad. And they got money for food, and even a few thrift clothes, and supplies. Because they were together. They were Shadow-and-Autumn-and-Drake, and that is all that mattered. No one would separate them. It hadn't taken them long to figure that out.

On the streets, every thing moved fast paced. You grew, you learned, you matured, you got smart and cunning, you choose the right people to trust - or you died. These three, this Drake-and-Shadow-and-Autumn, they were safe together. They would tough it out in the alleys until they were legal adults. By then they'd have enough squirreled away that they could get a real home for the three of them, then from there, oh they had plans. They just needed to be old enough. No one would rent even a trash-dump apartment to three eleven year olds.

And then they could choose to *not* take money from people that liked their thin child bodies, liked to see them play out mockeries of that which belongs to adults, like to join in and pretend. Then they could choose to *not* let those people touch them, direct them, use them. Then, oh then, they would choose.

Unbeknownst to the three, scant minutes after they exited the second alley on the left and disappeared around the corner, an old man with long white hair and a long white beard, dressed in the most outlandish and brightly colored clothes, popped into existence in the alley. The old man looked around, a worried and befuddled look upon his face as he witnessed the emptiness of the alley. Then he took a thin stick from his pocket and started waving it around. Strange words came from his mouth, but still nothing happened. The old man's confusion and worry deepened, and his shoulders sagged down as if the weight of the world lay on them. With a final sigh, the old man once again popped out of the alley, to destinations unknown.

The Daily Prophet, EMERGENCY EDITION

July 26, 1991

WIZARDING WORLD SAVIOR MISSING!

It is my duty to report this to the Wizarding world, though I take no pleasure in it. As I'm sure you recall, 10 years ago, the Wizarding World was saved by little Harry James Potter, the boy-who-lived, who tragically lost his parents that same night. Our world was assured that he was put somewhere safe to be raised, and we would see him upon the train to Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year, his Eleventh.

Sadly, it has come to this reporters attention that the boy-who-lived has been marked as "not found" upon the Ancient and Honored Hogwart's Roll of Attendance. His letter was sent out just two days ago with the flock of first year acceptance letters, only to be returned, unopened!

Now, it took me some research, Ladies and Wizards, but I have, in fact, confirmed that the only time a Hogwart's Acceptance Letter is returned unopened, is if the recipient cannot be found by the owls. This has happened only a few times in recent history - exactly twice before this in the last century!

It is with a sad heart that I must inform you that in both of those cases, the child address on the letter was later found to have died before the letter was sent.

Yes, I know that must come as a shock. It certainly was to me. But have faith, dear readers. The moment the Headmaster of Hogwarts, the Great Albus Dumbledore, informed the Minister of this development, a team of Aurors were dispatched in investigation.

Now, hold on to your hats, Witches and Gentlemen, that isn't the end of this saga.

Mr. Harry James Potter's was *not* the only letter to be returned un-opened this year. At this very moment, as I publish this, the Ministy is raiding the Malfoy Estate. That's right, the Malfoy heir, little Draco, is also missing. Has apparently been missing for three years! It's simply unprecedented.

I can assure you, dear readers, that the Minister is taking this matter very seriously, and investigating both events with all due procedure. I will keep you up to date on the developments of both the boy-who-lived and the Malfoy-heir.

Rita Skeeter, Reporter

The Daily Prophet

The DAILY PROPHET

Monday, July 29 1991

Headline:

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy Arrested!

That's right, ladies and gentlemen. Lord and Lady Malfoy have been arrested by the Ministry. The list of charges is extensive and heavily related, so I'll only list the largest charges involved. The Trial is set for September 2nd, pending the search for Young Mr. Draco Malfoy. Should the Malfoy-heir fail to appear on the Hogwart's Express on September 1st, then the Malfoys will almost certainly be charged with great prejudice.

The list of Charges:

Child Abuse, Endangerment, and Neglect.

Failure to inform Authorities of a missing child.

Possession of Dark Artifacts prohibited by Law.

Harboring a Wanted Criminal. (No word yet on exactly who this might be.)

I know that's a lot to take in Ladies and Gentlemen, and I'm sure I speak for us all regarding the shock and horror which is felt at these revelations. How could someone so evil be hiding so skilfully beneath our noses?

To answer that question, I, your intrepid reporter, endeavored to research more of the Malfoy family. I have discovered that not only was Senior Malfoy secretly tried as a Deatheater after the Defeat of You-Know-Who and only slimly escaped conviction due to a - in this reporter's opinion - flimsy excuse of "I was Imperioused!" but the Malfoy Family has long been known to harbor and support the Dark Arts.

Perhaps they weren't so skillfully hiding after all, perhaps we have just been blinded in our celebrations of victory against the evil that was You-Know-Who.

In pursuant to this, this reporter humbly beseeches the public. Is there anyone capable of setting up something, anything for oversight? Surely Our World can do something about the tragedy of child abuse. Surely, someone out there can fight the fight for our children.

It seems that that the boy-who-lived and the missing-Malfoy-heir are two cases that will remain intertwined. While I am overjoyed to share with you that the DMLE has discovered that boy boys are, in fact, alive - they both appear to be living under different identities, and the assigned investigation squad is running thin on leads.

This reporter must wonder if these two boys have more in common than just being missing. This reporter is of the opinion that the Muggles set to raise the missing boy-who-lived should be investigated as the Lord and Lady Malfoy have been.

Rita Skeeter, Reporter

The Daily Prophet

The DAILY PROPHET

Monday, September 2 1991

BOY-WHO-LIVED and MISSING-MALFOY-HEIR NEVER FOUND!

Once again, I must bring you despairing news.

Through the Ministry's investigation, it was found that the Boy-who-lived was placed with his mother's Muggle sister (I'm sure you recall, James Potter's Bride, Lily Evans was a Muggle-born Witch) to be raised.

It was also found that this horrible woman, and her equally Muggle husband were abusing, neglecting, and STARVING our Boy-who-lived, in a horrible echo of the Abuse of the Malfoy-heir discovered earlier this summer. This reporter wondered as much during the article "Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy Arrested", printed in the July 29 edition of this newspaper, but we were all hoping I would turn out to be wrong.

Indeed, as I initially reported in that same article, Lord and Lady Malfoy's trials are today, and once the trial as ended, we will be publishing a special report on the results.

The Wizarding World's Hearts are breaking, with no leads on the investigations past discovering that both boys ran away from home to escape their abuse, the Ministry has had no choice but to pull back the search efforts. Once the DMLE discovered that both boys were operating under false identities, no further leads were found, and all avenues were exhausted. This reporter must wonder, given that both boys are so very young, are they even aware of who they truly are? Is there something more sinister going on here?

Have no fear, the Ministry has not given up faith yet. The DMLE (Department of Magical Law Enfourcement) will reportedly be setting up a small team of professionals to continue the search. Alas, the majority of searchers must be pulled back to their departments to focus on protecting the rest of us, but I for one, and comforted by the fact that the Ministry will keep investigating.

Now, we know that the DMLE has no jurisdiction over anyone purely Muggle and cannot themselves arrest the culprits in the boy-who-lived's case, the Department has, however, handed their investigation of the Muggles (names redacted for the safety of the defenseless muggles) over to the DoMR(Department of Muggle Relations) who, through an anonymous source, has let this reporter know that the intention is to bring the matter to the Muggle Police in order to see that at least, Muggle Justice can be served for our Savior, the Boy-who-lived.

This is a sad day, indeed. Hug your children close, Witches and Wizards, for they are precious.

Rita Skeeter, Reporter

Daily Prophet

The DAILY PROPHET

Monday, December 9, 1991

MALFOY TRIAL AT AN END: DISCOVERED AN INNOCENT MAN HAS BEEN IN AZKEBAN FOR NEARLY TEN YEARS

After almost three months of hearing charges, defenses, proof, and rebuttals, the Wizemgot has finaly passed judgment in the trial of Lord and Lady Malfoy.

Dear readers, the Malfoys have been found guilty of all charges! Yes, that's right. They have both been sentenced to Life in Azkaban Prison. Now, if you refer to the original article on their arrest, you may remember a mention of a charge of Harboring a Wanted Criminal.

Well, this reporter has finally discovered exactly *WHO* the Malfoys were harboring! You may want to take a seat for this revelation, ladies and gentlemen, for it was none other than PETER PETTIGREW!

Little Peter Pettigrew, whom we all thought horribly murdered at the hands of his childhood friend Sirius Black, after Black betrayed the Potters to He-who-must-not-be-named. Except that Sirius Black did NOT betray his friends! During the Malfoy trial, it was discovered that he was in hiding at the now Ministry-seized Malfoy Manor, and had been hiding there since the day we all *thought* he'd been murdered.

You have read correctly, ladies and gentlemen. Sirius Black is INNOCENT!

Your faithful reporter has found out that Mr. Black, who after being declared innocent is now able to lay claim to the title that is rightfully his: The Lord of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black; has already been released and is now guarding his privacy while he recovers from the effects of the Dementors. (For more information of Dementors, see page 3.) We hope he will agree to an interview once he has had time to recover. There are many questions that this reporter, at least, would love to ask the new Lord Black.

The trial for Peter Pettigrew is scheduled for an undisclosed day, sometime next month. I will, of course, keep you updated.

Rita Skeeter, Reporter

The Daily Prophet

The DAILY PROPHET

Monday, December 6, 1991

WIZARDING WORLD STILL SEARCHES FOR LOST CHILDREN

Dear Readers, it has been six months since the disappearance of the boy-who-lived and the missing-Malfoy-heir was initially reported. During the initial investigation, it was discovered that both boys, though very different, were horribly abused by the people that should have loved and protected them above all else.

Thought it was discovered, during the investigation, that while both boys are alive, they also both appear to be living under false identities, and most likely don't even know who they truly are. The investigation appears to stand dead in the water, with new leads having disappeared months ago, and no new information having been found.

The DMLE has handed both cases over to the DoWoMC (The Department of Welfare of Magical Children) - a newly formed department in the Ministry created by our Minister to combat the distressingly common occurrence of child abuse both in the Wizarding World, and amongst our Muggle Born children.

This reporter whole-heartedly endorses such a department, as we all know our children are our most precious commodity.

As it turns out, the first two cases for the DoWoMC are in fact those of Mr. Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived and Mr. Draco Malfoy, the missing-Malfoy-heir. Any sightings of either of these boys, or any suspicious activity regarding the safety of children is to now be reported directly to the DoWoMC, instead of the DMLE.

This reporter has also found out the third case to be handed to the DoWoMC, though it does not include the abuse of a child by their family. Instead, this is a case of a kidnapped child that has never been found. Missing for nearly ten years at this point, this reporter would like to remind the Wizarding World of one of the tragedies bestowed upon us before the boy-who-lived was able to defeat You-Know-Who - The kidnapping of the youngest Weasley child, Guinefac Weasley - as initially reported the day after her disappearance, by my father - then top Prophet Reporter, Norman Skeeter.

The Weasleys have never given up hope, and the DMLE has never stopped looking for the lost-Weasley-child. This reporter hopes that the newly formed DoWoMC can live up to the expectations we all have for them.

Rita Skeeter, Reporter

The Daily Prophet


	4. Chapter 4

The Burrow Garden, Ottery St. Catchpole

October 13th, 1981, Evening

A tawny, scraggly, and filthy rat hid beneath a bush next to the back door of the Burrow, leading to the kitchen. The had been watching the home carefully for over a week now, and was tense this night, for this was the night.

The rat was not really a rat, you see, but an Animagus. That is, a Witch or Wizard who could transform, or shift, into an animal. This particular rat was a Wizard named Peter Pettigrew, and he was hiding in the garden of the Weasley home on a mission from his new Lord. This was the night he'd decided he would attempt to kidnap the youngest Weasley children, their twin girls - not but two months old at this point.

He watched through the screen door as the matriarch, Molly Weasley sat at her kitchen table and enjoyed a glass of wine. Peter, also known as Wormtail, had been watching carefully as first the baby girls, then the rest of the boys from the youngest toddler up to oldest boy , little 10 year old Billy, had been put to bed by their tired mother.

Yes, Wormtail knew the children. After all, The Weasleys had been friends of his once, before he took the opportunity his Lord had presented him. Friends of his in almost the same way that prat James Potter had been. He knew the little Potter brat too.

Wormtail watched the woman through the back door, kept a close eye as the glass of wine was drained, and the woman became sleepy. If his calculations were correct, she still had an hour before her husband returned home, and it seemed she was drifting off with the wine induced sleepyness. Just the moment the rat had been waiting for. He already knew that the nursery window was open to the nights breeze, so he made his way out of the garden and into the orchard, where he could climb his little rat body up the bush and into the baby girls' window.

Once in the room, the rat froze, listening carefully. After a few minutes, during which the only sounds were the twin girls heavy breathing in their adjacent cribs across the room from him. Carefully and slowly, the rat inched across the room. Once the rat was near the cribs, he slowly began to grow and change. Change into a pasty man with small, watery eyes. Looking around hesitantly once the transformation had finished, the man quickly went to work. He grabbed a canvas bag near by and started filling it with the diapers and blankets and little clothes and bottles he'd need to care for two small infants.

He was almost in the clear, the bag slung over his shoulder and a weave basket in his hand made to carry a child in one arm, ready to grab both girls, when his clumsiness finally caught up with him. One too quick turn and the bag over his shoulder crashed into an oil lamp sitting on the table. Wormtail froze for one horrible second, and the sound of the Weasley Mother rushing across the house had him grabbing the nearest girl child and turning to leap out the window. The moment Molly burst into her infant girls room was the instant Wormtail apparated from the spot beneath the nursery window where he landed after his leap.

He'd have to come back for the other one. But first, he had to get out of there. No doubt the place would be crawling with Aurors soon enough. As Wormtail cracked away, he'd heard the beginnings of Molly's wail as she discovered one of her children were gone.

Molly Weasley was enjoying the light buzz of her glass of wine, sitting in the warmth of her kitchen. As she always did, on her Arthur's late nights at work, she would be waiting for him to come home right here in their kitchen. It had been their ritual, ever since their Bill had been born nearly 11 years before, to never retire for the night without one another. It was one of the small things she and her husband did to keep their relationship alive, even under the exhaustion of their 8 children. Their pride, their joy, all 8 of their precious precious children.

Molly chuckled at herself, and then froze as a loud crash came from her youngest's room. Much quicker than an observer would think possible for a wine-drowsy woman of her stature, the mother was up and racing across the house and up the stairs to the nursery, panic in her heart and spurring her quickness.

In one heartbeat, she had thrown the door to the room open, her eyes automatically fixating on the two cribs where her baby girls should lay. In the very next heartbeat, she felt as if she had been doused in the painful shock of ice water dumped on her head. Her Guinevere was laying on her side, facing her sister's crib, screaming with all the power of her two month old lungs as if the world was being torn asunder. It was, Molly thought, oh it was. Because in her little Guinefac's crib, there was only a torn sheet. Molly felt a scream matching her infant daughter's bubble up in her throat and explode the same moment she dimly head a crack out the window. Though her head snapped in the direction of the noise, she knew she was too late to get even a last glimpse of whatever had just taken her baby girl from her.

Later, Molly would say that it was like her body moved without her direct control as the scream continued to rip out of her throat, and she fell to her knees, crawling over to her remaining daughter's crib. A hand on the rail, pulling her self up found her able to reach her little Guinevere and pull the screaming infant into her arms. Collapsing next to the crib where she stood, rocking her daughter and herself back and forth on her knees was how her husband found her only minutes later, when he had apparated home into their kitchen, only to see a spilt class of wine, and hear his wife and infant's anguished cries.

Less than ten minutes later, Arthur Weasley sat on the couch of their family room, his now quietly sobbing wife cradling one - only one - of their twin daughters next to him, the rest of their woken children piled around them, tucked against their sides, or up against their legs at a bevy of Ministry officials and Aurors swarmed their home, looking for clues.

The sobs of his wife, the worn out cries of his infant daughter, and the sniffles and quite crys of his sons blended with the cacophony of noise surrounding them. Arthur closed his eyes and leaned his head back, letting the noise wash over him as did his despair. A prayer to the Old Gods for the safety of his lost little one, a prayer to the Old Gods that their family would not be further broken, a promise to the Old Gods that he would never stop looking, never give up hope of finding his little Guinefac.

The DAILY PROPHET

Thursday, October 14 1981

WEASLEY CHILD KIDNAPPED IN DEAD OF NIGHT!

That's right, dear readers. I bring you tragic, tragic news.

Last night, The Burrow, the ancestral home of the Weasleys was broken into, and Arthur and Molly Weasley's youngest daughter, twin Guinefac Weasley, was stolen from her crib.

The family has understandably declined to make any comments, and this reporter, for one, will not bother them during this unimaginably horrible time. Information was received, however, from the official statement from the DMLE. According to the Investigating Wizard, it appears the culprit was able to sneak into the nursery of little Guinevere and Guinefac Weasley through the window.

It is unknown how they might have gotten past the wards in place at the time, though the Investigator assures this reporter that not only were the standard wards in place, but also the wards recommended by the Ministry issue pamphlet on keeping your home safe. We all know this is a dark time we live in, and obviously the family's caution was warranted.

According to the investigation thus far, it is unknown how the culprit got past those wards, it is only known that they were still in place when the Aurors arrived after a frantic flu call from a panicked Arthur Weasley. (It was said that the anguished screams of the mother, Molly Weasley, had been heard in the background of that floo-call to the headquarters of the DMLE,)

It appears, through what the Aurors were able to determine had been also taken from the room that the culprit appears to have been prepared to take both girls, as they had also packed up several supplies already stocked in the girls room. It is believed that the culprit's plan went awry when he accidentally knocked over and shattered the girls lamp, and do to Molly Weasley's quick movement upon hearing that frightful noise, the culprit had time to grab only one girl.

Aurors will be posted outside the Burrow as protection, as they suspect the culprit may return for the other girl. This reporter will respectfully keep you up to date on any new developments regarding the now lost Weasley girl.

Guinefac Weasley leaves behind a large family that will no doubt anxiously await her return.

Parents; Arthur and Molly Weasley

Siblings; William, age 10

Charles, age 8

Percival, age 5

Twins Fred and George, age 3 1/2

Ronald, age 19 months

and her twin, Guinevere, age 2 months.

The Wizard World weeps today for the Weasleys, and our prayers are that their little girl will be found.

Norman Skeeter, Reporter

The Daily Prophet

Small hut, Glastonbury, England

November 1st, 1981

Peter had been hiding here, upon order from his Lord, with the infant Weasley for near a month now. His Lord had decided that his punishment for failure to get both girls would be to take care of the infant himself until the opportunity arose to get the other one so they could be turned over to the families his Lord had choosen for them.

So far, no such opportunity had arisen. Wormtail, in rat form, had been apparating back over to the outskirts of the Burrow Orchard, to keep an eye each night as the infant lay sleeping in the crib he had transfigured from an old broken bed table that had already been in the the little hut when he'd arrived with the screaming child the night he'd taken her.

Oh, he'd been careful to stay in rat form, as few knew he had the ability, and certainly not the Ministry. And none of the people that did know would ever think that he had been the one to take the little girl anyhow. He was safe as could be.

He was also well aware that two Aurors had been posted at the Burrow every night since. Not once had the opportunity presented itself. The nursery window - actually, all of the children's windows now had bars over their windows, in an effort to block that point of entry. He'd be able to slip through in this form, of course, but he'd have to find a different way out. The house anti-apparition wards prevented that easy answer.

He never staid more than 30 minutes or so, aware of the danger of leaving the infant. Even if he had placed disillusion charms on the crib and child each time before he left. The hut was meant to appear abandoned, and the charms he placed on the child would ensure that any muggle wandering through would only see broken furniture, not the makeshift nursery he'd charmed and transfigured together. Still, he wouldn't take more chance than he should, and popped in for short surveillance trips a couple times a night just to make sure.

But this night, it was very very different. His Lord had told him they would take action against the Potters soon, and it seems his Lord had made his move the night before. Wormtail himself had been waiting for the report, but this night he could hear the Aurors guarding the Burrow talking loudly, celebrating even though the family they guarded was still mourning. He shook his little rat head in fear at what he had heard. No, no it couldn't be. His Lord could not be defeated! He could not have choosen the wrong side! Everything was falling apart. James Bloody Potter had won again! Even Dead... He took Lily with him, and that Potter Brat had somehow defeated his Lord! It wasn't right!

In a fury the little rat scammperd away to a place he could shift to human and apparate back to the shack and the child. He had to find out if it was true. In a hurry, Wormtail returned to the shack and gathered up the child. He apparated to headquarters immediately, only to quickly apparate away again when Lucius Malfoy caught sight of him, the blond aristocrat's eyes widening in rage, a shout of "TRAITOR" escaped through his lips. Peter didn't waste time to find out how many more than the three Deatheaters in front of headquarters would come rushing out for him.

Apparating to an alley in Soho, Peter began running in panic. He hid around a corner from where he had popped in, and finally looked around him. He had turned into the second alley on the left, and at the end a small, dirty girl with filthy blond hair and tattered clothes had frozen in place upon sight of him. Peter froze in return, and studied her. She looked to be about 12, maybe 14 years old. Beneath the dirt and grim, she appeared to have a dark shade of blond hair, and blue-gray eyes. At this distance, he wasn't really sure which it was. She was thin and wiry, but otherwise appeared to be a bit healthier than he'd expected a homeless muggle to appear.

His Deatheater brothers would be after him, they had called him Traitor. Too much of a coward to hang around and endure the Crucios he would get before being given the change to explain, Peter had run to give himself time.

Sirius would be after him. He was the only other person that knew about the switch in Secret Keepers. When Sirius found out, he would hunt Peter down like the rat he was. While before, he would have been perfectly safe at his Lord's side, now Wormtail had no such assurances. He looked at the girl, and then looked at the infant that lay sleeping in the same woven basket he'd taken from her room.

Peter ran to the girl and shoved the basket into her very surprised arms. Ripping the bag from his shoulder, he threw the strap around the girl's neck, and then turned and fled from the alley, not giving even a second look to the three month old infant he'd just abandoned to a homeless child, his action completed and his form disappearing from the alley in under 5 seconds.

Peter Pettigrew was on the run.

Forty five minutes later, the girl in the alley, holding the infant that had been shoved into her arms, and feeding the baby one of the bottles she'd found in the bag, snapped her head up as she heard a loud explosion coming from the direction of the main streets in London.

During their later cleanup, the Wizards sent to obliviate the Muggles that had witnessed Sirius Black supposedly blowing up Peter Pettigrew and several Muggles - would never find those little girls living in The Second Alley on the Left, Soho, London.

The Burrow Garden, Ottery St. Catchpole

October 13th, 1982

Arthur Weasley blindly stumbled into the kitchen of his family home. On any other day, he would find his cheerful and bright wife already making breakfast to feed the army of their family. On this particular morning, however, the Weasley Patriarch knew things would be different.

He had taken the day off work, and called upon one of his cousins to come and watch the children for the day. Only 6 remained at home - One had started his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry just the month before.

And the other was the reason for the darkness in the kitchen. Arthur's eyes adjusted to the dim light as his focus steadied on his wife's form sitting at the kitchen table, her head in her hands. The fog of the early morning began to clean, and he registered the quiet sounds of sniffling. He saw the tea kettle sitting on the table, next to her elbow. He suspected his wife had attempted to get up and start her morning routine either in defiance of the day, or as an attempt at distracting herself.

He drew himself up and a plan started to form in his brain. Before he could take his first action, he heard the floo start up in the family room, back from the direction he came, and he swiftly turned and retraced his step. He greeted his cousin, and let her know that the children were all still in bed. He asked her for a couple of minutes, and he and Molly would start the process of getting six children from ages 9 to 1 ready for the day at their elder cousin's home.

It wasn't long before he returned to the kitchen to find that his wife had scarcely moved. With a quick flick of his want, wall scones flickered to life. Arthur deftly grabbed up the tea kettle on his way past the table, and returned it to it's place on the stove. He shuffled around in their cabnite for a moment, and made a quite sound of triumph escape when he laid his hands on the coffee kettle. Just a second later, he had his hands on his and his wife's stash of Frankish Coffee. If ever there was a day they'd need it...

Once Arthur had the coffee perculating, he slid onto the bench next to his wife, and gently pulled the woman into his arms. Arthur closed his eyes as his wife turned and buried her face against his neck.

And once again Arthur prayed to the Old Gods. Just has he had done exactly one year before, and exactly as he would do, he decided, every year on the anniversary of their little Guinefac's kidnapping. He prayed for the safety of his lost child, the safety of his family that yet remained within his reach. He renewed his promise to keep looking, to never give up on his little girl.

Soon, he and his wife would have to face their children. Some days he was grateful that only William, Charles, and Percival seemed to remember their missing sister. Today would be one of those days, as he intended to handle his two older boys himself this morning. He'd already written a letter to William the night before, and Errol, their post owl, should be delivering it with the morning post at school. He hoped his words offered comfort to his Bill, even though he couldn't. Charlie and Percy would be comforted, and counseled to try not to let it effect them too much today, and to try not to mention it to the younger children. The twins, swiftly heading to five years old now, were already starting to understand far more than Arthur would wish them burdened with.

But for now, Arthur thought, for just this moment, he would hold his wife and they would mourn.


End file.
